Frozen
by tinacreeper
Summary: A serial killer is on the loose. When one of their own goes missing, will they be able to solve the case in time? EO
1. No Smoking

**FROZEN**

**CHAPTER I**

**No Smoking**

A thin layer of smoke hovered around the heads of two men. Even though they were sitting at opposite ends of a reasonably sized table, it was clear that the man closest to the door was the tallest and easily the most built. His arms were folded across his chest defiantly; the sleeves of his blue collared shirt rolled up to hug his forearms, and an arrogant grin curled itself coolly around the cigarette wedged between his lips.

The man opposite was a thin, gangly man with wild straw-coloured hair that fell unevenly over his face. His tight, black shirt bore the letters: F.B.I.; and the Built-Man had to squint to read the text below them: Female Body Inspector. His skin was dotted with orange spots, and his eyes were sunken back into his head from many years of sleep deprivation. A condition which, Detective Stabler put down to A: lack of a life, and B: World of Warcraft three. But it wasn't his freckles or his aptitude for Star Wars trivia that had him pinned as a 'geek' to half the precinct – it was his wearing habit of sniffing nothing in particular every minute or so.

It was hard to believe, by any stretch of the imagination, that this man, who greeted his arresting officers with a Vulcan Salute, was their prime suspect in the current serial murder case.

Elliot Stabler had never been one to smoke, he had always found the behaviour disgusting and had been under the impression that only "horny, piss-weak parolees who don't know which way's up" became involved with. "There are cooler ways to die," Munch had said one quiet afternoon, and then leapt into an epic one-sided discussion about how the American Government is tracking addicted consumers by way of imprinting the tobacco signatures with… Elliot had stepped outside for a cigarette. The crisp, New York wind tickled his face and playfully prevented him from lighting his fix, and he was just about to toss the bud over the railing and onto the street below, when the door behind him opened and he heard a voice speaking above the cold wind, "I hope you're not planning on tossing that." He turned, and Olivia Benson walked towards him.

Together they leaned against the rail, and looked out over the city they were meant to protect. Olivia had never once told him to quit his new habit, when she did find out however, her only words of disapproval were, "Oh god, Elliot," coupled with a look down her nose before leaving the subject alone.

"How's Kathy?" Olivia asked with a sideways glance at her partner, hoping to catch an answer in his reaction before he actually spoke.

"At her mother's," he turned his back on the city, "she had an abortion."

Olivia stood for a moment, shocked, before turning her own back on the city – a symbolic gesture that neither of them noticed, yet both understood as they once more stood facing the same direction. She put a hand on his and said, "I'm so sorry El," and she needn't say more. He smiled gratefully at her and together they walked back down the stairs and resumed work as usual.

He extinguished the cigarette in an ashtray, and persisted staring at the man opposite him. The man, who had sniffed at a runny nose a good one hundred and twenty times by now, said nothing.

"Elliot?" said a voice from the corner.

"Yeah?" He replied, his eyes not moving an inch from his objective.

"I was thinking… you know that rope we found at the scene?" Elliot nodded, "Well, I bet the M.E. will be back with DNA from the perp any second," the last two words were drawn out, as if she didn't think Elliot would be able to understand her if she spoke at a normal pace.

Elliot turned around, and said to Olivia, "You know, I think you're right," and with that he pushed back his chair and stood, "I think we're done here," he said to the stunned suspect and together they made for the door.

"You won't find anything," he said, a mischievous grin widening on his face. This time, both Elliot and Olivia took their seats opposite their suspect, "And if there really is DNA, it'll only be your victim's."

"Oh come on, Peterson, a smart boy like you oughta know there's a 50/50 chance that that's your DNA we're gonna find," said Olivia, clasping her hands together on the table.

"First of all, it's not my DNA that'll be on it, and second of all, you've got the wrong man," Peterson said.

A soft knock and the door opened, Melinda Warner poked her head through, shaking it at the two detectives with a solemn look upon her face. As she backed out, the two faced Peterson enquiringly.

"Lucky guess," he grinned.


	2. Hail Mary

**CHAPTER II**

**Hail Mary**

"Four victims: Alexa Thomas, thirty-one; Stephanie Goldman, twenty-four; Morris Petri, sixty-five; and Bobby Stevens, eight," Captain Cragen boomed to his colleagues in the sixteenth precinct, all of whom were listening intently, pens and notepads in hand, some were scribbling furiously, others, like his four prime detectives, stood, sobering up from the early morning, "-nothing to connect any one of them. It's our best guess that the Killer chooses his victims at random –"

"Wait – our best _guess_?" said a stout, harassed-looking woman with flaming red, curly hair and thick, black-rimmed glasses that gave her the appearance of a fat flamingo. She was among those scribbling notes onto their pads, and Cragen noticed that sitting beside her on a desk was a voice recorder.

"And you are…?" Cragen asked.

"Oh!" the woman jumped up and scurried forward through the crowd, up to the front – hand outstretched, "Jody, Captain, Jody Forester, CNN News," she said shaking the Captain's hand vigorously, everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

Cragen smiled weakly at her, and motioned two officers forward, "Ms. Forester, this is Officer Smith and Officer Bryant; they're going to escort you back downstairs."

"But, Captain," the woman said with a slight squeal, "I came to talk to you," and as the officers marched her to the elevators she could still be heard shouting questions at Cragen, and yelling any number of profanities at passers-by, "You're going to regret this!" her last attempt at the Exclusive was thwarted as the elevator doors eased to a close and she was sent cackling downstairs.

"So," Cragen continued on as if nothing had happened, "Who's our best lead so far?"

"Tim Peterson, twenty-eight. Works at a nearby Internet Café and Gaming Lounge," Elliot read from his small pocketbook, "So far this Café is the only link we have between all of the victims – they all went there for coffee or in Bobby's case, his mother went for coffee, in the last two weeks."

"DNA came back clean, though," Olivia added, consulting a notebook of her own, "Warner says there wasn't enough to get a full comparison."

"Surly there are other people who work at the Café? Not just Peterson?" Cragen pointed out to nods from around the room.

"But not all of the employees have a history of attacking their mothers, do they?" said Fin, "turns out Peterson gets a little cranky if you stop him playing his video games."

"Fine, bring him in," Cragen turned back to the board, and began to scribble notes, lines and shapes between each of the victims' photos.

"Already did, Captain, he's not giving anything," Elliot said.

Cragen turned, sighed, and said quietly, "Well, find something, _anything_, or the press is going to have a field day."

The wind was just as fierce as it had been the previous day; Elliot and Olivia rugged up in their coats and scarfs, and braced lacerating rain outside.

They'd barely settled into Elliot's car when Olivia's phone rang shrilly into their brittle air.

"Benson," she said into the receiver, and after several long seconds, "Okay, we're on our way," snapping her phone shut she looked at Elliot, who put the key into the ignition and began to drive. She didn't even need to say a word and he understood: there'd been another one.

Minutes before they arrived on the scene, rain had begun to fall, conjuring a heavy mist to hang low over the crime scene.

A tall, severe church with high steeples, and great, thick oak doors loomed out of the fog, and the car crunched to a halt on the gravel.

"Have you guys eaten?" An officer outside the doors asked them.

"Yeah, why?" said Olivia, looking from the doors to the pale officer.

"Damn shame. It's a mess, best hope you keep it down," he said, and nearly stumbled down the few steps to his own car.

Elliot pushed open the doors. At first glance it seemed a normal chapel – with its fifty or so pews, deep red carpet and hundreds of candles lining the walls beneath great mosaic portraits. As they walked down the isle, Olivia could hear Elliot muttering brief words of prayer under his breath, and felt a sudden reverence for him and his ability to keep his faith even in such dark hours.

As they neared the alter it was clear what the officer outside had meant. A naked woman was hanging by her foot, which had been tied with a thick rope, from one of the wooden beams holding up the ceiling. She was swaying slightly, with the small gusts of wind that crept their way through cracks in the windows and doors. A long laceration extended from the top of her genitals all the way to the nape of her neck. Blood had poured down onto the alter beneath her, filling a chalice, and it had overflowed, staining the white cloth and deepening the shade of the red carpet. Her eyes were wide and staring, and as they got even closer they could see that several organs had fallen onto a bowel of fruits beside the chalice.

"ID?" Elliot asked, objectifying himself.

"Marie Kevington, thirty-three, works here as a receptionist," said an officer.

"He's escalating, that's what I can tell you," Melina Warner said, zipping up the body bag, "She was tortured pre-mortem. And badly too, her lungs have been seared by a blow torch of some kind – there's burning all through her intestinal organs, it would have been excruciating."

"Cause of death?" Elliot asked, playing with several instruments on a table.

"Strangulation, at around 6am this morning."

"Kevington's folks said there was a ransom called made to them last night at 7pm," Fin said immediately as they entered the precinct.

"A ransom?" Olivia said, more to herself than as a question, as she took her off coat and placed it on the back of her chair.

"Wait, that doesn't make sense," Elliot added, sitting on the edge of Olivia's desk, "None of the other family's got a call."

"Warner did say he was escalating," Olivia said quietly.

"But still, why didn't the Kevington's call the police?" Elliot argued.

Munch piped up, with his best imitation of the victim's family, "'He said he'd kill her if we called the police! Because we're so stupid NOT to call the police, we've let our own little girl be maimed and torture-'"

"Munch shut it," Olivia snapped, "Just get back to work."

"What? It's not like you two are getting anything done! I've been all over the city, from the warehouse on tenth all the way down to the Bay," Munch stood up.

Mimicking, Elliot moved towards him, "I haven't seen you at any of the crime scenes," Olivia stood, but remained behind Elliot, "I haven't seen you at Warner's office, learning detail for detail how the victims – how that poor little boy – was tortured and murdered."

"What, so suddenly that means I'm lazy and don't care?" Munch shouted.

"That's not what he meant," Olivia said, "You just haven't been bothered to get off your high-horse for one second to –"

"High-horse? Oh that's rich, coming from Miss Woe-Is-Me of the year!"

Elliot jumped forwards, fists flying, but before he could round a few into Munch's gut, Cragen slammed open his office door.

"What the HELL is going on?" he stormed out of his office and stood between Elliot and Munch, who were both breathing heavily, "Elliot, you've been up for 48 hours. Get some sleep. Now!" he added, when Elliot opened his mouth to protest, "And Fin, Munch, I've got other work for you two. Olivia, you get some sleep too. NOW."

Both Elliot and Olivia, although grudgingly, made their way up to the crib, Elliot taking a bottom bunk, and Olivia taking the one above his.

Several minutes passed without conversation. Each listened to the steady breathing of the other, finding a strange comfort in knowing that they were both there, and alive.

"You didn't have to do that," Olivia spoke quietly.

"What?" asked Elliot.

"Defend me like that – I would've taken care of it myself," she tried to keep the gratitude she felt towards him out of her voice – but failed, "I mean, I can take care of myself Elliot," she added quickly.

Though she couldn't see it, he smiled, "I know, sorry."

Several more minutes of silence passed.

"You know I had his ass, right?" Olivia snickered.

Elliot laughed into his pillow, "Totally."

Another few minutes of silence passed between them.

"Liv?" Elliot whispered.

"Hmm?" Olivia was barely awake.

He thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully, before saying, "Never mind."

Olivia heard his tone, and smiled warmly into herself before allowing sleep to pass over her.


	3. Like A Crunch

**CHAPTER III**

**Like A Crunch**

It felt as though it had been barely ten minutes before Olivia was being shaken awake by Munch himself.

"Wh-what, Munch, what is it?" She stirred, lifting her head off her pillow.

"Downstairs. Now," he said and rushed out of the room.

Slowly, she rolled off the top bunk and half-stepped, half-fell to the floor. Elliot's bunk was empty. She looked out the window – the sun was just beginning to rise. Several hours must have passed. Why had she been allowed to sleep for so long during the middle of a serial murder case?

She made her way down to the squad room, where the atmosphere was similar to just that morning's, although slightly tenser.

Everyone seemed to be looking at her cautiously, as she said down at her desk and looked around for Elliot.

"Now that we're all here…" Cragen began.

"Wait, Captain, Stabler's not here," Olivia interrupted, but Cragen continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"An hour ago we received a phone call from our serial Killer," he allowed a moment for gasps of shock and curiosity to flutter throughout the room, everyone's attention seemed to sharpen, "While 'how' and 'why' still remain a mystery, right now we just need to focus on the 'who' and the 'where'," a second wave of curiosity and concern flared, as fifty or so tired detectives and officers demanded to know who their Captain was talking about. Cragen looked at the floor, relaxed, and sat on the edge of a desk, bringing himself down from their superior to their equal, "the bastard's got Elliot," there was an uproar as people ran to phones to make frantic calls, the majority of those who remained standing held their hands to their open mouths in disbelief. Olivia felt as though her stomach had just fallen through the floor, taking her jaw with it. It couldn't be true.

"Elliot?" she said, "Surely, Captain, you mean Elliot Johnson from the DA's office?" Cragen shook his head and offered her a sympathetic nod, before standing to address his audience as their superior once again.

"You all have your assignments. Lets bring our boy home," and he walked straight into his office, closing the door behind him.

It took several moments for the throng to dissipate as they all scurried to their various posts – to question their various witnesses and do their digging. Olivia marched straight into Cragen's office.

"I don't believe it," she said, pacing the room, talking with her arms, "You're mistaken. You have to be mistaken."

"Olivia, sit down," he tried.

"He was just up in the crib – we were talking. He was there! Captain, no," he had tried to cut her off, "You don't understand. He was there, he was right there, with me, the entire time. So there's no way that anyone could have come in and-and-" defeated, she collapsed into a chair, her head in her hands, "I don't understand," tears formed behind her eyes but she did not let them fall – a last attempt to gain some control over the case.

"Olivia," Cragen started slowly, "This is the call we got," he pressed a button somewhere on his desk – Olivia wasn't looking – and she heard a man's voice as the tape began.

"_I hope you're all having a pleasant time, searching endlessly for me. I'm really quite surprised at your inadequacy and inability to find a simple, pathetic man such as myself. I think you need a bit of a shock, a motivator, if you will, to get you going again._" There were muffled groans and the shuffling of bodies, "_Tell them, tell them who you are_," the man said, and there was the sickening crunch of a fist connecting with a face, "_Tell them who the fuck you are_," Olivia took a deep breath, "_My name is Detective Elliot Stabler_," Olivia's stomach tightened, and her chest ached, she could hear the pain in his voice, "_Now, Detective, any last words? This may very well be the last chance you have to talk to your dear beloved, albeit incompetent, detective friends_," Elliot spoke again, "_They're gonna find you, you sick, pathetic-_" Olivia flinched at a second crunch, and a groan of pain, "_I'm fucking serious Stabler, give them your last fucking words_," momentarily, warmth flooded through Olivia's body, and a few tears fell, hastily, she wiped them away and listened to Elliot speak, "_Just one thing – You totally had his ass._" Olivia felt the warmth grow hot as she was unable to contain a laugh, as more tears found their way from her eyes, "_That's it. You have twelve hours to catch me; I don't give a fuck about money. I want you to show your worth and fucking catch me. Twelve hours, and he's dead._" The tape clicked off and rewound itself.

"Twelve hours?" Olivia demanded of Cragen, "We've been looking for this guy for weeks and now he's giving us _twelve hours_?"

"We're going to find him, Olivia," Cragen said, but looked as though he was trying to convince himself rather than her, "What did Elliot's message mean?"

"Nothing, just something he said to me earlier."

Over the next few hours, someone had displayed a ticking clock in the squad room, counting down the hours, minutes and seconds. Each time Olivia walked past it, her stomach did back flips, and something pulled at the backs of her eyes.

With five hours to go, someone had received a tip that a man was seen dragging another into an abandoned warehouse. The entire squad responded. Olivia's adrenaline was fuming as she sped through the winding streets towards Elliot's location.

She was going to see him – he was live, everything was alright. She couldn't help but smile as she pulled up outside the warehouse, jumped out of her car, gun drawn, and cautiously made her way inside.

It was big, very big, and grey. There were empty crates strewn across the floor, some filled with foam, others empty. Syringes and bloodstains littered what free space there was. Footsteps – Olivia raised her gun, and saw someone's coat flip around a corner into a hall.

"FREEZE," she shouted, and ran to follow. Where was her backup? She reached for her radio – but had a second thought – what if she scared away her target? She rounded the corner, and saw a rusty door at the end of a corridor swinging on its hinges. Checking she was alone in the hall – she made for the door and pushed it open slowly.

A hooded man slammed shut the side door of a white unmarked van, muffling yells that sounded remarkably like "Olivia," and got into the driver's seat.

"FREEZE," she shouted again, raising her gun, but he had already started the engine and was moving away, she aimed for the tires, fired, but missed, and the van was gone. She didn't even see a number plate.

Gone, just like that, gone. Olivia sat down in the doorway, her gun hanging limply in her hands, and breathed. She put her hands on the floor to support herself, but retracted them quickly. Looking down at them, they were bloody. With a sickening feeling, she knew it was Elliot's. Her stomach left her. And the familiar tugging behind her eyes began – but this time she allowed it to overpower her, letting tears slide down her cheeks. Her chest was aching, her heart pounding, her eyes yearning for more release, rage swirled inside her and she punched the open door, hitting it and kicking it and bashing it will all of her strength. She fell backwards and stared at the ceiling. She'd failed. They'd finally gotten a lead – one that led them straight to Elliot – and she still hadn't managed to catch the bastard that had him. She tried hard not to think of what was happening to Elliot – but the sort of torture that the other victims had endured was too hard to forget. She tried not to think of what would happen if he died… how it would be for his kids… for Kathy… for her. She tried to remember the warmth and safety she felt when they were together – just them, whether it was working or the small moments alone on the roof or the crib. She tried to hold onto that warmth, but it seemed to be draining each minute that he was growing further and further away from her.

She sat up, her chest aching worse than ever, closed her eyes, and remembered his smile.


	4. Tenth

**CHAPTER IV**

**Tenth**

With one hour to go, she had walked up to the crib, and laid down in the bottom bunk, where Elliot had been so little hours before. She breathed in the scent of the pillow, which still smelled like his aftershave. She allowed it to fill her and she was momentarily warm again. Tears leaked onto the pillow, but she pushed them away. And she remember their conversation. "_I had his ass_," "_Totally_," his message. On the tape. _You totally had his ass_. There was something in that. Olivia stood up. _You totally had his ass_. And remember the fight with Munch. Elliot wouldn't have said it for nothing. Munch had been going on about Miss Woe-Is-Me… no, before that. Olivia wracked her mind, going through every conversation in the past week that she, Elliot and Munch had had together. And then she remembered: "_I've been all over the city, from the warehouse on tenth all the way down to the Bay,_" that was it. The warehouse. Wait, she thought, she'd failed at the warehouse. _On tenth_. She'd failed on ninth. But what serial killer in their right mind goes to two separate warehouses? Why not just stay at the one? Or go to a completely different location? Maybe… maybe the man she'd seen at the warehouse hadn't been dragging Elliot at all… maybe it was just a distraction… yes.

Olivia ran down the stairs, glanced at the clock: thirty minutes to go. She would call for backup when she was in her car.

She called everyone – other police, ambulance, even the fire department – she had no idea what she would find when she found him.

She pulled up outside the warehouse – it looked empty. She got out of her car, pulled out her gun, and walked cautiously up to the door. It was open, barely an inch, but enough for her to see through into a wide, earthen floored room. It was empty.

Heart pounding, she entered the room. There was no side of Elliot or the man who'd taken him. A scan of the room and surrounding area came up lacking. There was no one. Nothing. It was empty.

She stood there, in the middle of the room, breathing heavily, and looked at her watch just as it ticked down to "0". She switched off the alarm.

The world seemed to die. She couldn't hear, she could barely breathe, and tears welled in her eyes. Her chest ached harder than ever. Her heart beating so fast she thought it might stop. The very air around her seemed to compress – pressing in on her from all sides, she couldn't breathe.

She felt a voice rising inside her, and let it out: "No, no, no, no…" she trailed off… she could hear something… muffled voices… shouting something. Then, a good twenty feet away, she saw the dirt stirring.

It happened slowly – she slid along the dirt and started to dig. She didn't care about it getting on her clothes, her hair, in her eyes. She just wanted to dig.

Finally, she hit an arm, and found a hand. He was too deep down – there was no way she could dig all of him out. She moved her hands through the dirt, up his arm, and found his neck, and dug out as much of the dirt as she could. It was loose; a lot of it simply fell back into place. It was like digging in loose sand.

She pulled his arm, and his top-half came out of the dirt. Still holding his hand, she used her spare one to wipe dirt from his eyes and mouth. She sat on the dirt with him, and he grinned at her, and they started to laugh. She snaked her free arm around his neck and pulled him slowly towards her, as he neared, she allowed her lips to lightly brush the corner of his, and she hugged him. She felt the warmth flood through her once again as he wrapped his spare arm around her waist, and held her close to him. He could feel her heart beating a thousand miles an hour, and she could feel his too.

"I've been cold," she whispered into his neck, and she could feel him breathing her in.

"Me too," he said, and he tightened his hold around her.

The end.


End file.
